
Trapped By The Coldhearted Billionaire's Game
Cassidy Fox woke up in a freezing, luxurious penthouse that wasn't hers.
Before she could clear her spinning head, ruthless billionaire Jaret Taylor threw a phone onto the bed.
The screen showed an explicit photo of her boyfriend, Burt, tangled in sheets with Jaret's fiancée.
Burt had fled the moment things got complicated, leaving Cassidy behind as a scapegoat to face a monster.
Jaret demanded an eye for an eye.
He trapped her in the room, choked her until she nearly blacked out, and threatened to completely destroy her career if she refused to submit to him.
When she still fought back and escaped, Jaret's men captured Burt and lured her to an abandoned warehouse in the middle of a hurricane.
Burt was tied to a rusted pillar, beaten and sobbing in terror.
He didn't care about what degrading acts Jaret would force her to perform to pay off his debt.
"Cassidy, please, just listen to them! We can figure this out, just don't let them hurt me!"
Cassidy felt a suffocating wave of despair and injustice.
She had risked her life driving through a deadly storm to save the man who had once saved her from drowning, only to realize she was sacrificing herself for a selfish coward who had already betrayed her.
Jaret sat at the poker table, looking at her rain-soaked body with a cruel smirk.
"Every hand I win, you do exactly what we ask. If you manage to win a hand, we cut off one of Burt's fingers."
Looking at the pathetic man begging for his life, Cassidy slowly picked up her cards.
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Chapter 8
The only sound in the room was the ragged, uneven rhythm of Cassidy's breathing.
She curled into a ball in the corner, her arms wrapped around her knees, her body still trembling from the adrenaline crash. She felt like a piece of glass that had been dropped, waiting for the final shatter.
Jaret stood by the window, his back to her. The line of his shoulders was rigid, the muscles in his back coiled tight. He was staring out at the city lights, but he wasn't seeing them. He was fighting a war inside his head, trying to cage the beast she had unleashed.
The shrill, insistent ringing of a cell phone shattered the silence.
Jaret cursed under his breath. He pulled the phone from his pocket, glancing at the screen. His brow furrowed, a look of deep annoyance crossing his features. It was the London office. An emergency.
He hesitated, his thumb hovering over the decline button. Then he let out a harsh breath and answered.
"Speak," he commanded, his voice instantly shifting from feral to glacial. The transformation was terrifying in its speed.
Cassidy watched him from the floor. As soon as he turned his attention to the call, her survival instincts kicked in. She scanned the room. The bedroom door was open. If she could get past him, through the living room, and out the front door...
She shifted her weight onto her hands, preparing to bolt.
Jaret's head snapped around. Even as he listened to the voice on the phone, his eyes locked onto her, sharp and warning. The look said, Don't even think about it.
Cassidy froze, the cold reality washing over her. She wasn't going anywhere.
Jaret ended the call, shoving the phone back into his pocket. He strode over to her, his long legs eating up the distance. She flinched, pressing herself deeper into the wall, bracing for another attack.
But he didn't hit her.
He crouched down, his hand reaching for the small evening clutch she had dropped near the bed. She tried to snatch it away, but he batted her arm aside with casual ease, flipped open the clasp, and pulled out her phone.
He stood up, his fingers quickly tapping on the screen. He dialed a number, let it ring once, then hung up. He typed something into her contacts, then tossed the phone back onto her lap.
"Tomorrow. Six PM. The Peninsula Hotel lobby," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Cassidy clutched the phone, her knuckles white. "I'm not going anywhere with you," she spat, her voice hoarse and scratchy.
Jaret let out a cold, humorless laugh. He leaned down, his face close to hers, his voice a low threat.
"That term sheet is still unsigned. Your boss is downstairs, practically begging my friend for money. One word from me, and she's ruined. And if you aren't at the Peninsula tomorrow..." He paused, a cruel smirk touching his lips. "I'll come to that roach-infested apartment of yours and we can have this conversation in your living room."
The image of Jaret Taylor in her tiny, shabby apartment, tearing apart her safe space, made her blood run cold. He would do it. He was insane enough to do anything.
He straightened up, adjusting his cuffs with his uninjured hand, ignoring the sharp throb from his bloody knuckles. He smoothed down his jacket. The monster was back in its cage, wearing the mask of the gentleman.
He walked toward the door, pausing to look back at her one last time.
"Remember, Cassidy. You owe me. And I always collect."
The door slammed shut. A moment later, she heard the murmur of voices in the living room, then the heavy front door closing. Silence.
Cassidy collapsed onto the floor, the phone clutched to her chest. She stared at the screen. The contact name simply read: Jaret.
It was a ticking time bomb.
She couldn't go to the Peninsula. That was walking into the lion's den. But if she didn't... he would destroy her. He would destroy everything.
She forced herself to stand. Her legs were like jelly, but she managed to pull her dress back down and fix her hair. She wiped the tears from her face, smearing her makeup. She didn't care. She just needed to get out of this room.
She opened the bedroom door. The living room was empty. Kade was gone.
She walked out into the hallway, her heart pounding with every step, expecting him to jump out of the shadows. She made it to the elevator, down to the ballroom, and back into the crowd.
She found Meredith at the bar, nursing a martini and looking irritated.
"Where have you been?" Meredith snapped, checking her watch. "I've been looking for you. The Thorne guy blew me off after ten minutes. Total waste of time."
Cassidy just stared at her boss, the words washing over her. Meredith had no idea. She had been sitting downstairs, sipping cocktails, while Cassidy was fighting for her life upstairs.
"I'm sorry," Cassidy mumbled, the lie tasting like ash in her mouth. "I got lost."
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8.6
In my past life, the Cerberus strain leaked, turning the world into a blood-soaked hell of rotting flesh and mutated monsters.
I thought my boyfriend Declan and my best friend Hailee would have my back as we fled the quarantine zone.
Instead, when the surging crowd of the infected cornered us, they didn't hesitate.
They shoved me backward into the horde just to buy themselves three seconds to run.
As I fell into the mud, I saw them fleeing without a single backward glance.
"She's dead weight anyway!" Hailee screamed.
"Just keep running, she'll distract them!" Declan yelled back.
I was torn apart, feeling the agonizing tear of rotting teeth sinking into my neck and the hot spray of my own blood.
Before the apocalypse, my greedy uncle had locked away my ten-million-dollar trust fund, leaving me with nothing but a fake boyfriend who only wanted me for my money.
Until my last breath, I couldn't understand how the people I loved most could trade my life for a head start.
Why did I blindly trust them? Why didn't I see through their perfectly choreographed lies?
Opening my eyes again, the stench of decaying flesh vanished, replaced by the sterile smell of my college dorm room.
Hailee and Declan were standing over my bed, faking tears of concern over my meningitis fever.
I was back exactly seven days before the world ended, and my spatial vault ability had come back with me.
This time, I'm extorting my uncle for every cent, hoarding the city's supplies, and leaving them all to rot.

9.2
Jacqueline Blackburn, a desperate Ivy League tutor, walked into the sleazy Veridian VIP club just to save her job.
But her billionaire client, the ruthless Christian Montgomery, mistook her for a cheap escort, blowing cigar smoke in her face and treating her like trash.
When she furiously turned to leave, a drunk former client attacked her in the hallway, tearing her white dress open and pinning her by the throat.
She fought back, stabbing the man's hand with a pen, only for Christian to emerge from the shadows and brutally crush the attacker's bleeding hand under his heel.
Instead of letting her go, Christian draped his heavy suit jacket over her exposed skin, trapped her in his dark suite, and forced her to sign a suffocating contract.
"You have exactly ninety days, or I will personally ensure you cease to exist in my city."
She thought she could just keep her head down, teach his nephew, and survive.
But she didn't understand why this terrifying underground tyrant was suddenly so fixated on her.
Why did he use his immense power to isolate her, publicly claim her at a billionaire gala, and track her every move?
When she received a chilling midnight text demanding she pack her bags and move into his sprawling estate by 8:00 AM, the terrifying reality set in.
She hadn't escaped the wolf. She had just walked directly into his cage.

8.8
I am the best esports jungler in the league, but I've been hiding a severe wrist injury just to keep my team alive in the semifinals.
Right in the middle of the crucial tie-breaker game, our mid-laner deliberately walked into the enemy team and died without casting a single defensive spell.
He was match-fixing for offshore betting sites, throwing away our entire season for a massive payout.
Because of his betrayal, we had to sub in two terrified rookies, and we were absolutely slaughtered. The stadium crowd booed us out of the arena. The internet exploded with pure vitriol, trending hashtags calling me a washed-up fraud who hid on the bench to save my own stats. The media demanded I retire immediately. My physical therapist gave me a grim ultimatum: my shredded nerves only allow me four hours of playtime a day before my right hand completely locks up.
I destroyed my own body for this team, only to be sold out by a coward and crucified by the very fans I bled for. Why should my legacy end in total disgrace because of someone else's greed?
I refuse to step down. I forced the traitor out, ignored management's safe roster choices, and locked my eyes on the most toxic, universally hated streamer on the platform.
"He's a walking PR nightmare," my coach warned.
I don't care. He is an arrogant, unhinged killer in the game, and I am going to make him mine.

8.4
On the night before her wedding, Navia Harrison discovers her fiancé in bed with her step-sister-and worse, the two of them are already planning how to get rid of her after the marriage.
Humiliated and consumed by hatred, Navia exposes their affair during the wedding ceremony itself, destroying both families' reputations in a single move.
Then, she meets him.
Leonel Crawford - the cold and dangerously powerful head of the Crawford family. Untouchable. Ruthless. A man no woman has ever been able to keep close.
He's also her ex-fiancé's uncle.
One impulsive proposal changes everything.
"If you need a wife... marry me instead."
"Honestly... we'd make a pretty good match."

7.6
Top DEA agent Kaitlynn Bruce woke up to a heavy, chemical lethargy, only to realize she was trapped in the body of a weak, abused war widow.
Before she could even process her new reality, she heard her sister-in-law counting cash, selling her unconscious body to a local thug for a measly two hundred dollars.
The thug dragged her new seven-year-old son, Cason, into the bedroom.
"Mommy!"
When the boy reached out, the man brutally kicked his small body into a wooden doorframe, leaving him gasping and bleeding on the floor.
Memories flooded Kaitlynn's mind. Her predecessor was a pathetic doormat whose husband's military pension had been bled dry by these greedy in-laws, leaving her children to starve and suffer endless abuse.
But as Kaitlynn looked at the bleeding boy's dark, unnervingly alert eyes, a chilling piece of DEA intelligence clicked in her mind.
Cason Richmond.
The name, the town, the abusive aunt—it all matched the classified files of the "Director of the Hive," the most ruthless and feared cartel puppet master in the criminal underworld.
How could this battered, starving child be destined to become the ultimate monster she used to hunt?
The original widow's tragic death was supposed to be the catalyst that pushed this boy into total darkness.
But Kaitlynn Bruce was not a victim.
Adrenaline burning through the drugs, she cracked the thug's neck with a brass lamp and choked the sister-in-law against the wall.
Looking down at the boy who was supposed to become a global nightmare, she made a vow. She was going to rewrite his script, even if she had to burn the whole world down to do it.

9.8
Three women, three brothers, a single, crumpled dollar bill.
Alina's world shatters the moment she's auctioned off-and claimed by the powerful Hawthorne brothers.
Thrown into Adrian Hawthorne's cold, dangerous world, she becomes his to control... his to protect... and, terrifyingly, his to desire. He's ruthless, possessive, and hiding secrets that could destroy them both. But the deeper she falls into his world, the harder it becomes to tell if she's his prisoner-or something far more dangerous.
Because the Hawthorne brothers don't just take.
They keep.
Viviane has spent her life surviving, so when Julian Hawthorne "buys" her freedom, she knows better than to trust it. Men like him don't save people-they collect them. But Julian isn't as simple as he pretends to be, and the deeper she's pulled into his world, the more dangerous it becomes to walk away.
Especially when she realizes she might be the only thing he's ever been willing to fight for.
Lena doesn't belong to anyone-and she intends to keep it that way. Brilliant, guarded, and hiding more than anyone suspects, she enters Lucien Hawthorne's world on her own terms. But Lucien doesn't play fair, and he doesn't let go.
When her past comes crashing back, Lena is forced to face the one thing she's been running from: trusting someone who could destroy her... or save her.
Three women. Three choices.Stay. Fight.
Or burn it all down.
Because being sold was only the beginning.